


States of Being

by CaptainOfShips



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, American AU, American Things, Character Development, Football as in the American kind, Insecure Sherlock, Jock John, M/M, Sherlock is Spock, Star Trek References, Teenlock, an appearance of Jim Moriarty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOfShips/pseuds/CaptainOfShips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an AU American fic, so if you have a problem with that, and are going to complain that Sherlock should "only stay in England" than just don't even read the fic. There is a difference between criticism and just being a dick.<br/>I just wanted to write a Teenlock fic, but I'm way too American to write something half decent for that. I also thought there should be one.<br/>With that being said, anything that would normally mean something different in British, means the American way. For example: Football is mention quite a lot. It means the American Football (But there's not a ton where it makes the fic unenjoyable)<br/>Also, if you're worried this fic might have underage porn, or whatever, I haven't decided if I'm going to write that in this or not. As much as I love reading smut, I'm horrible at writing it. Just keep checking the tags and stuff because I will add onto those as the fic goes on.<br/>Enjoy! :D</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. First Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU American fic, so if you have a problem with that, and are going to complain that Sherlock should "only stay in England" than just don't even read the fic. There is a difference between criticism and just being a dick.  
> I just wanted to write a Teenlock fic, but I'm way too American to write something half decent for that. I also thought there should be one.  
> With that being said, anything that would normally mean something different in British, means the American way. For example: Football is mention quite a lot. It means the American Football (But there's not a ton where it makes the fic unenjoyable)  
> Also, if you're worried this fic might have underage porn, or whatever, I haven't decided if I'm going to write that in this or not. As much as I love reading smut, I'm horrible at writing it. Just keep checking the tags and stuff because I will add onto those as the fic goes on.  
> Enjoy! :D

They met in English class, fifth period, taught by Mr. Richardson. It was the first day of school for everyone, but more so for Sherlock Holmes than anyone.  
  
A new British transfer student from London, England, supposedly extremely smart, and extremely rich. At least, that's what the rumors were saying, floating around the halls from student to student on the first day.  
  
“I heard in second period he corrected Mr. Curran at least three times. Almost threatened to kick him out of class,” and “I heard he arrived to first period an hour early so he could avoid the idiots that walk through the halls,” and “He arrived to school in a fancy looking car, and is wearing a fancy outfit. He even has a fancy name: 'Sherlock'. He's about as rich as they come, I say” were just a few of the things that were being said about him; but which were true, and which were false, no one knew.  
  
Sherlock was sitting in a seat towards the front of Mr. Richardson's class, first one to arrive minutes before more students started to pile in.  
  
“'Ey, it's the new kid with the fancy name,” one of the jock kids said. He nudged Sherlock hard in the shoulder, but Sherlock just kept his head down on the English book in front of him. The jock nudged him again, “Aren't you goin' to introduce yourself, sweetheart?” The jocks friends laughed while the head one grabbed the British boys book. But, instead of lashing out, the response Sherlock knew they were trying to get out of him, he kept his head down.  
  
“Hey, Flash. Why don't you leave the kid alone?” another British voice spoke making Sherlock lift his head. A boy with blond hair and broad shoulder walked into the classroom. Another football player, like the jocks picking on him, but Sherlock could tell something was different about him. Almost as if the boy was smart and was determined to go far in life, unlike the others whose goal in life was to party, drink, and have sex as much as possible.  
  
“Watson, didn' 'xpect to see you in this class,” the head jock spoke, “thought you'd be too smart to be in here.”  
  
“What I do is none of your business. Now give the new kid his book back,” the kid nicknamed Watson walked straight up to Flash, and Flash just stared back at him. A few seconds later, Sherlock had his book back, and the jocks had retreated to the back of the classroom.  
  
“Sorry about them,” Watson sat in the desk next to Sherlock, who just nodded, now focused on the door, estimating the time the teacher would arrive, “I'm John Watson, but most people just call me Watson.”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes.”  
  
“You look a little young to be in this class, Sherlock. What grade are you in?”  
  
“I am a Sophomore, technically, but those classes were too simple. I wanted to be in the AP English class, but my brother said I could only choose 3 AP classes, and of course I chose the Science ones.”  
  
Before John could respond to any of that, Mr. Richardson walked in, and class begun.  
  
                                                                                                                                     ----------  
  
When English ended, Sherlock already had all of his things packed and headed out the door in a split second to his next class. He was halfway down the hall before John had caught up with him.  
  
“Hey, Sherlock. I didn't get a chance to finish talking with your earlier.” John said, but Sherlock just kept walking, so John tried again, “What class do you have next?”  
  
“Lunch.”  
  
“Great, me too,” John smiled. “A newer student, such as yourself, might have trouble finding a place to sit in the hell they call the lunch room. You can stick with me, if you want.”  
  
Sherlock eyes flashed over to the boy walking next to him who was somehow managing to stay up with the quick pace the younger boy was walking, and nodded a yes.  
  
They stayed silent on their way to the lunch room, and didn't talk again until they were sitting at a lunch table in one of the far corners.  
  
“So, Sherlock. Tell me really. What's a sophomore like you really doing in a class full of seniors?” John was staring at Sherlock with complete interest. He pulled out a sandwich a few minutes before, but abandon it to talk to the younger boy.  
  
“I already told you; the other classes were too easy for me,” Sherlock's eyes were glued to the table as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.  
  
“But they don't let just anyone into a higher level class.”  
  
“I'm not anyone then.”  
  
“Right...” John nodded, looking away. His eyes scanned across the lunchroom when he shouted, “Harry! Where have you been?” Sherlock lifted his head to see John talking to the female that had just arrived at their table. She look a lot like John, the same face and hair color. Must be his sister then. There was another girl with her with straight brown hair that looked nothing like the other two, so a friend? No...  
  
“Sorry, John. Clara and I had to go to the bathroom," Harry said.  
  
“Lies,” Sherlock mumbled.  
  
“Sorry what?” John asked as all three pairs of eyes went on the younger boy.  
  
“She wasn't in the bathroom. She was having a make out session with her,” Sherlock nodded in the direction of Harry's 'friend', “Obviously.”  
  
“It's not obvious to me,” John smiled a bit intrigued, while the two girls started to get red in the faces.  
  
“The girls bathroom is by that entrance, the one we entered by,” Sherlock's head tilted towards the left,” and she entered with Clara from the right, much farther away from the girls bathroom. Besides, I saw them walk out of the bathroom when we made our way down here, but John didn't notice because he seems so interested in me for some reason.  
  
Anyway, it's been at least 15 minutes since then. You could have going to stop by your locker, but neither of you had anything when exiting the bathroom, and still have nothing now. Plus, your clothes are both wrinkled, with obvious attempts to sooth them out. And, with the lie you just told, makes it completely obvious, doesn't it?”  
  
All three of the others just blinked stupidly, John with a wide smile across his face, the two girls blushing furiously.  
  
There was a moment of silence before Sherlock realized what he had done, “I'm... sorry,” He mumbled his words as his face went into a blank expression, “I didn't mean...” a second later he was standing to leave, but was held back from escaping by Johns hand on his arm.  
  
“That was... amazing,” John smiled.  
  
“Was it?”  
  
“Of course! Now sit back down so you can tell me how you did that.” Harry had escaped with Clara in the meantime to avoid any awkward questions from her brother.  
  
The younger boy just nodded, following Johns orders. His face still expressionless, “I just observed it.”  
  
“But why couldn't I?” John challenged.  
  
“Because you're an idiot,” The older boy obviously looked taken back by that comment, so Sherlock quickly added, “But don't worry, practically everyone is.”  
  
John just smiled again, something that made Sherlock's face relax, and something he could definitely get use too. “So, how do people normally respond when you do your observing thing?”  
  
And the hard, expressionless look was back.  
  
“Not good, I take it?”  
  
Sherlock shook his head.  
  
“Well, forget them. They're all idiots, right?”  
  
And Sherlock smiled.  
  
                                                                                                                                     ----------  
  
They ended up having two other classes together. Sixth hour, AP Chemistry, and seventh hour, Pre-Calculus. They became lab partners in Chemistry (Sherlock refusing to work with anyone else, claiming everyone else was a moron). They sat next to each other in Pre-Calc, Sherlock verbally correcting the teacher more than once on her mistakes (Okay the rumor on him correcting teachers often may have been true).  
  
When school ended, Sherlock followed John to his car.  
  
“How are you getting home Sherlock?” John asked, pulling open the back door of his car to throw his backpack in the back.  
  
“I will just walk.”  
  
“What? No posh car like everyone was talking about earlier?” There was sarcasm in John's voice, but the younger boy seemed to miss it.  
  
“I hope you know whatever rumors were spreading around about me earlier today were false. I walked here, and I can walk back.”  
  
“Well, I would offer you a ride, but I have to get to football practice.”  
  
“It's alright, John. I can manage,” And with that, Sherlock turned around and started walking in the opposite direction.  
  
“Hey, Sherlock,” John called out, still by his car. The younger boy stopped walking and turned in John's direction, “I'll see you tomorrow, fifth hour, alright?”  
  
Sherlock just nodded and began walking again. But, he felt like running, flying even.  
  
He had met someone smart, not an ass like everyone else surrounding him, and genuinely interesting.  
  
This year might not be that boring after all.  
  
  


_((Pictures I'm using as inspiration for Sherlock:_   
_<http://4put.ru/pictures/max/363/1117828.jpg> _   
_<http://25.media.tumblr.com/9e2de6326a766b8452e9a1580fbbfa24/tumblr_mfpx2vQYsu1rck1b4o1_500.jpg> _

_And, I really don't have one for John, except this picture a little bit:_   
_<http://hollywoodhatesme.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/martin-freeman.png> _

_So, if you have a picture you think would fit this fic good, or how you imagine Sherlock or John to look, just send me a link in the comments, or submit it to[my Tumblr](http://neverimpossiblehoweverimprobable.tumblr.com/)))_

  



	2. I Am A Question To The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Read by: The_River_Blaire
> 
> The title is named after, and this chapter was inspired by: I'm Still Here by John Rzeznik. (It's pretty much the only thing I listened to while writing this chapter. Also, I think it fits the character of Sherlock Holmes really well. Just listen to it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Z-l9IUBOqM )  
> Warnings for this chapter: Homophobic word abuse, and slight underage drug use.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Sherlock had known from an early age that he was different. He was smarter than his classmates, even some of his teachers, and could spout out random facts about a person just by a glance, whether it be their darkest secret to their life story to what they had for breakfast that morning.

In his mind, there were only a few people in the world that understood him, and one of them being Spock.

At the age of eleven, he remembered watching The Original Series of Star Trek on DVD with a 16 year old Mycroft on weekends when his parents were out on business; as they often were. Mycroft would go on and on about how attractive he thought Captain James T. Kirk was, only to remember Sherlock was in the same room. Afterward he would tell Sherlock not to tell Mummy or Father anything for they would not accept it; and Sherlock didn't because he could care less about “How sexy Captain Kirk looked in his Starfleet uniform” or “How amazing Captain Kirk was for saving the Enterprise... again”.

What he found interesting was the logic behind Spock’s race, the Vulcans.

A race that had removed all of their emotions, so they relied completely on logic.

Sherlock would spend hours staring at the telly, captured by fascinating man that was Spock. Mycroft was lead to believe he had a crush on Spock, which was true, but not in a physical nature, it was more of an intellectual one.

When Sherlock was thirteen, he had a crush on a boy by the name of Henry. Henry was the top of his class, only since Sherlock didn't care to do homework because he found it tedious and boring. Henry was considered good looking too, and Sherlock was hooked.

They went out for a little over a year before Sherlock decided it was about time to tell his brother (he was always a mastermind at hiding this from Mycroft).

Incidentally, the same day, Mycroft was caught snogging a boy named Wesley by the Holmes' Father. He shouted at Mycroft to “stop being such a fucking queer” and told him that if he didn't, he would be banned from the Holmes Family. Same went for Sherlock incase he was “getting any ideas”.

A few days after that, Henry broke up with Sherlock. They didn't have a relationship based on cuddling or make out sessions, but more of just enjoying being in the presence of another genius. Yet, Sherlock was still hurt.

It wasn't as though he could go to him family for reassurance either, and Mycroft was dealing with his own problems. Sherlock was abandoned to deal with these foreign feelings alone.

Afterward, there was non stop of talk about Sherlock on how strange he was, or how much of a queer he was. Also things like “Watch out so the freak doesn't deduce things about you.” were said.

A week after the break up, the Holmes Father died in a plane crash on his way to a business trip.

Everything in Sherlock’s life suddenly felt like it was spiraling out of control; so he turned to drugs. He had used them before when he got bored or needed to think, but this time was different: He was using them to feel calm and forget. At first, he used marijuana, and then went to cocaine.

He would lock himself in his room after school, as he often did; but instead of playing sweet music on the violin, he would lose himself in a high. It made him feel emotionless and serene, and he just stopped caring about everything. The odd thing was, he loved it.

Mycroft was the one to catch him; since their mother was too busy taking over their father’s business. He ended up sending Sherlock to rehab. When Mycroft tried to get Sherlock to talk about it, the younger boy would just stare blankly at the wall in silence. Over the past couple of months, he realized emotions were dull and got in the way of life.

“Just like Spock,” He would say to himself.

They had moved to America a week after Sherlock ended school. Mycroft had been accepted into Harvard University for a year. Mummy Holmes sent Sherlock with Mycroft since he was really the only person Sherlock talked too; and she knew she wouldn't have time for him back at home.

Sherlock watched as London was left behind from the back of one of Mycroft’s private cars.

“This is an opportune chance to start over,” the Elder Holmes said. He had prodded the information about Henry and Sherlock’s peers earlier that week.

Once in America, Mycroft had settled into college almost immediately, leaving Sherlock alone. They had a maid and a cook, but Sherlock never spoke to them. He was like a ghost to them who only went into the kitchen every once in awhile to eat or get supplies for experiments. Most the time he would just lock himself in his room to play the violin, or conduct experiments, or think.

Life was extremely dull.

Until he met John.

John.

John was the first person to ever verbalize his fascination with Sherlock's deduction skills, when everyone else would just tell him to piss off. John was nice to him. John was the first person since Henry he found generally interesting.

John was John, and Sherlock liked it.

\----------

John and his family had moved to America when he was thirteen. His father had died in action in the war, leaving John to be the man of the family at a young age.

His mother had moved them, saying there would be more opportunities for them in America. Once in the USA, he didn't see much of his mother. She had become an alcoholic, getting drunk, then passing out at a stranger’s house, and then repeating the process the next night.

Harry didn't care about school much, and most of the time would just party at a friends house. John’s biggest fear was that she would turn out exactly like their mother.

John tried his best in school, which paid off since he got mostly A's. He was determined to go to a good college, which was one of a few reasons he played football. Since their family didn't get much income, scholarships from sports were one of the ways he knew would help. Also, he was quite good at it, and was the Running back. He started on the team freshman year, and continued each year.

If none of these worked, he considered a couple of times of enrolling in the army.

John really didn't have any friends at school. He hung out with a couple of people on the football team, but thought most of them were idiots.

That is, until he met Sherlock. Sherlock was fascinating, the way he could deduce things. Sherlock was intellectually challenging, and John loved a good challenge. Sherlock was the first person since he left home that wasn't an idiot or boring to be around.

Sherlock was Sherlock, and John liked it.

\----------

They were sitting in a spare bedroom, at Sherlock’s house, doing homework. They would have been in Sherlock’s room, but it was full of half finished experiments.

They had a project for English where they had to read halfway through Of Mice and Men and write a prediction on how the book was to end. Sherlock had read the book a few years before out of boredom, so he wrote a detailed paper on how the book was to end.

John, on the other hand, was struggling; but Sherlock was there to give him hints on what was to happen, and word phrasing that would help make his paper longer.

Afterward, they talked about themselves a bit. John talked about his life before and after America.

Sherlock talked some, he didn't mention Henry or the drug usage, but he did talk a bit about Mummy and Father Holmes, and Mycroft.

“Mycroft can figure out anything about anyone, just with the press of a few buttons,” Sherlock said, “He is dangerous and uses others. Be glad you have not met him yet.” John knew Sherlock was over exaggerating, so he just laughed.

Both found each other equally interesting, and enjoyed each others company.

And both liked it.


	3. The Game is On Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by: The_River_Blaire
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so short. I've had writers block on the football scene, and instead of having you guys go an extensive amount of time without a chapter, I split it into 2 parts.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! :D

It was the week of homecoming, the day before the homecoming dance, but the day of the homecoming football game. John kept telling Sherlock all day that he should come, since they were facing their biggest rivals, and Sherlock had yet to go to at least one of the football games. “I know nothing about American football,” was always Sherlocks response, “Why would I waste time there, when I could be doing better things with my time.”

It had been a month and a half since the beginning of school, so John was used to these types of responses by now. He just laughed, “Come on, it will be fun.”

“Doubt it.”

“Just this once. Please.”

Sherlock thought for a second before mumbling, “Fine.”

“Great! I'll meet you at your house later before the game starts,” and then John was off to practice.

Sherlock walked to the school parking lot, most of it had cleared out already, so he could clearly see a very impatient Mycroft waiting in his car. Once Sherlock was in the car, the first thing that came from his brothers lips was, “Where have you been, Sherlock. School ended twenty minute ago.”

“I had to retrieve some work for AP Biology.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, “I do not understand why you try lying to me. You were with a friend.”

Sherlock had placed his head against the window as Mycroft drove off from the parking lot, “I do not understand why it is any of your business.”

“We have been residing here two months. You must have met at least one person by now.”

The younger boy didn’t respond to his older brother.

“I worry about you, Sherlock.”

“I know, you express it often on the phone,” Which was true. When they lived in London, Mycroft would call Sherlock once a month to see how he was doing. Sherlock would sit on one end of the line in silence, and Mycroft would try to get his brother to say something on the other end.

“And yet you refuse to acknowledge my concern and meet someone new.”

“No one is interesting enough,” which was mostly true. There really wasn't an interesting person at his High School, only John. And, Sherlock assumed that was only because it was a two way street. John found him almost as interesting. But, John was just like everyone else, right?

“Mrs. Hudson graciously informed me that you have had someone visit a few times. A Mr. John Watson, if I'm correct”

“I help him with his English work, and we are Chemistry partners.”

“Yet, you discuss various areas of study, and both of your favourite things to discuss seem to be each other.”

“I am not here to make friends,” Sherlock mumbled, “I am here to because you dragged me along.” The younger boy laid head was against the cool glass of the window.  
Downtown was flashing by, colors blending in with the other colors of various buildings and people. He walked on these streets twice a day, too and from school, but only once had he visited the shops, and that was with John. He didn't do it voluntarily either. John had forced him to get to know the town better. They had talked and smiled and Sherlock had almost laughed a few times. Sherlock never laughed, but somehow John had brought out that part of him, and it had been effortless too.

“Alright, then,” Mycroft spoke, Sherlock coming out of his daze, “But do not think you have avoided talking about this. I will know the truth eventually.”

Sherlock knew Mycroft could find out anything about anyone without just a press of a few buttons. He probably already did background checks on everyone in the school, more so John than anyone since they conversed daily. For some reason, that bothered Sherlock. He wanted John to be a mystery he could unravel himself, not by what or what not was on his records.

‘Fine then. The game,’ Sherlock thought, _‘is on.’_  
  
\-------

Sherlock was lying on his bed when his phone screen read 5:45 pm. Leaving now would give him enough time to crawl through his bedroom window and meet John at the corner of the street by 6. He had texted John a couple hours before to give him the change of plans. Instead of John meeting Sherlock at his house, they would meet each other at the street corner. After climbing through his bedroom window, and walking down the street and he spotted Johns car. He, too, was there at least 10 minutes early.

“Hey, Sherlock,” John said as the younger boy opened the car door.

“What are you doing here early?” Sherlock asked, sliding into the car.

“I, uh, wanted to make sure everything was alright, since I couldn't pick you up at your door. It seemed a bit... off.” John pulled away from the curb and drove in the direction of the school.

“It's nothing really. Mycroft is just home from college, and-”

“What. Are you sneaking out? Are you grounded? If you are, I don't want to deal with your brother if you get caught. What I've heard about him...”  
“No, nothing of that sort. I have just never been to any type of school event before...”

“And you didn't want any awkward questions? I understand that.”

“Yeah,” Sherlock mumbled, “Something to that extent.”

It was something kind of like that. He had never been to any kind of school even before. He just didn't want Mycroft to know he had someone he could call a friend that convinced me to go to something so ordinary.

“I'm glad you're coming a long,” John smiled.

“I'm glad to come, too,” Sherlock said as sincere as possible. He was used to lying to people, and good at it too, but there was more than a pinch of truth in there whether Sherlock knew it completely or not.


	4. The Game is On Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from writing Hiatus! Yay!  
> Sorry this chapter took so long to put out. School and life and writers block.  
> But, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! Enjoy. :D
> 
> Beta Read by: The_River_Blaire

_(Shout out to[The_River_Blaire ](../../../users/The_River_Blaire) who has helped me the past couple weeks with a lot of things, and who i am more thankful too than possible to put into words<3)_

Sherlock sat top row, on the bleachers, at the football game in complete boredom. It wasn't long into the first quarter that he gave up trying to find the excitement it brought others around him. Instead, he began deducing things about the crowd: Front row, about 3 seats to Sherlock's left, was a female, 35 at least, unhappy marriage, has a son on the home team. 4th row, very end seat, male, college student, on the edge of failing out, dating one of the cheerleaders. 3rd row, in the middle, doesn't seem to understand that the players can't hear him yelling things they should be doing better.  
  
Everyone around Sherlock seemed to be doing that. Yelling things such as “Catch the damn ball!” and “Tackle him, you moron!”  
  
He didn't understand why, and decided to ask John about it later.  
  
2nd Row, John’s History teacher, obviously knows nothing about football, here because his wife dragged him along. 3rd row, male, porn addict, pedophile, okay that's enough about him... Top row, seat directly next to Sherlock, male, opposing school, smart... extremely smart, dangerously smart.

Interesting.  
  
The boy noticed Sherlock staring at him, and just smirked. He turned to face Sherlock and said, “Jim Moriarty. Hi!” He paused for a moment, looking Sherlock over, “And you must be Sherlock Holmes. If I would have known you were this cute, I would have talked to you sooner.”  
  
Sherlock flashed a smug smile, and Jim laughed emptily. “What? No genius remark from your pretty mouth? From what I've heard, you are rather clever when you speak. Come on,” Jim's expression immediately darkened, and voice became insanely more threatening, “Impress me. I _dare_ you.”  
  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and deduced... nothing of importance. Yes, he was intelligent. And, yes he was gay, obviously. (Obsessive amounts of product in his hair, tinted eyebrows, undershirt and underwear Americans associate with gays), but there was nothing else to deduce from a man that gave Sherlock a creepy vibe.  
  
“Nothing?” Jim taunted when Sherlock remained unspoken, “I guess it's my turn to show off then,” he smiled evilly with his eyes.  
  
“You moved here four months ago, and, poor you, you live here all alone because your brother dearest lives away at College and Mummy works back in England since Daddy dearest is dead. You were in a relationship with a boy named Henry, and your breakup lead to your drug addiction,” Sherlock’s glare at the boy had gradually disappeared, as he spoke, to the mask of no emotion he had masted years ago. "You don't need the powers of deduction to have the ability to know someone’s life story. Your brother isn't the only one with the power to do so, and it's about time you realized it.”  
  
The crowd around the gasped, and a few stood up. A voice on the intercom started speaking, “A tackle from number 19 Moran on Running Back number 21 Watson. Watson being helped off field with what looks like a leg injury.”  
  
“That's my Sebby!” Jim turned his head to the field and shouted. Sherlock foolishly turned his head too, to see John limping on one leg with one person on each side helping him walk. A few seconds later, there was a whisper in his ear, “You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock,” and when the younger boy turned his head back, Moriarty had vanished.  
  
\------  
  
There were five minutes left in the second quarter, both teams tied, 14 to 14. John was in the locker room icing his leg. Someone had landed on it, good.  
  
The crowd was cheering so loud outside that John failed to hear the back locker room door open. What he did hear was the sound of expensive shoes hitting the polished tile as soon as the cheering died down.  
  
“I'm sorry, but this is for players only,” John shouted.  
  
“Mr. John Watson, I presume,” a posh voice came before the body. A man in an impeccable three piece suit stepped out from behind the shadow of the lockers.  
  
“Who are you?” John asked. This man was way too dressed up for a simple high school football match.  
  
“That is no matter of importance at the moment. Who I came to speak to of is a certain Sherlock Holmes.”  
  
“Why? What's he to you?”  
  
“I worry about him. Constantly.” The man in front of John wore mask of importance that quickly was let down and then back again. Even in the dim light of the locker room, John hardly missed it.  
  
“I'll ask why again. What's an ordinary guy such as Sherlock-”  
  
The laugh of the posh man echoed deep through through the room, cutting John off. “Surely even you know Sherlock is far from ordinary. He is... unusual. Extraordinary some may say, if they ever got to truly know him. I know you're one of the first in a long time to be able to see that in him, John.”  
  
“I'm sorry but how...?” John was starting to feel uncomfortable by the man. Well, he had felt uncomfortable since he stepped in the door, but now it was beginning to feel unbearable.  
  
“Are you going to continue your association with Sherlock?” The man asked suddenly.  
  
“I don't think that's any of your business.”  
  
“It could be.”  
  
“It really couldn't.”  
  
“He has had a friend before. It did not end exceptionally. I do wish for it to end better this time.”  
  
“Or for it to not happen at all?” John questioned.  
  
“Precisely. Although, I do have the utter most confidence it will not end as terribly with you by his side.”  
  
The locker room door swung open and the coach’s head stuck through, looking thoroughly pissed off, “John. Do you think you can play?”  
  
The football player looked behind him, but the mysterious man was gone, “Give me a few more minutes, and I'll be right out.”  
  
As soon as the coach closed the door, the familiar posh voice filled Johns ears, “If you wish to win, John, put in your replacement Running Back.”  
  
“Anderson? But he sucks!”  
  
“If you have believed a single word I have said to you this evening, you will win with him in,” and with that the suited man turned on his heel, and headed for the door. “You will be hearing from me,” the voice said from the shadows, echoing throughout the room.  
  
John scrubbed his hands over his face. This was his game to win. He was going to go out there and play if it killed him. When he stood, his leg gave out underneath him and he landed hard on the pavement floor.  
  
He waited a few seconds before shouting “Fuck it!” Standing up a second time, he grabbed the crutches that were left with him, and hobbled out to the hungry crowd waiting for him, and only him, to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER GOT REALLY AWAY FROM ME I am only slightly sorry.  
> But, I have started the next chapter, so it shouldn't be long before it's out. ^-^
> 
> Last thing,I should probably explain football things, but I don't really know what to explain, except that John is a Running back. Their role is basically to catch the ball from the guy who throws it (the Quarterback), or run with the ball, to score, (I thought the position just fit him.) That's a really simple explanation, so if you have any more questions about it, or football in general, feel free to ask on here or my Tumblr: svaggity-svat-i-can-do-zat.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am struggling a bit with motivation with this fic. Mostly because I've been reading other fanfiction, and think "whoa these are amazing, my writing sucks in comparison". Also, I've been busy with school work and then come home and go on Tumblr for 6 hours straight and don't get writing done.  
> SO. I would love to know what you think. Post a comment, or message on my Tumblr (http://neverimpossiblehoweverimprobable.tumblr.com/) or whatever.  
> Thank you, and thanks for reading! :D


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